That effectively silenced them both as they made their way through the basement of the apartment and into the complex network of tunnels under LA. Wesley allowed himself to marvel over Spike's navigational ability. He allowed himself to admire his purpose and speed. He did not let his thoughts stray to how good Spike looked in a borrowed denim shirt. He didn't let them stray to his wet hair or to imagine drying that hair as they stood naked together under a bright, warm light. He shook himself slightly and jogged a little to catch the vampire up. He glanced at Spike's face, noticed his set jaw, wondered once more at the perfection of the cheekbones and the long lashes... `Shut up!'

`What?' Spike turned to him puzzled.

Wesley blushed deeply and was glad of the gloom in the tunnels. `Sorry, didn't mean to speak that aloud.'

Spike smiled faintly. `Oh. How much further? I need to kill something - quick.'

`Charming. Not far now. We should be under the museum, then we need to...'

They both heard a high-pitched, animalistic scream and started to run. Angel and Gunn were back to back, fighting three horned demons with the usual assortment of fangs and claws between them. The new arrivals threw themselves into the fray. It would have been a forgone conclusion and over very quickly and easily but for Wesley who, not on par, dodged a blow badly. Spike saw a claw tear across his shirtfront. Gunn dispatched one demon, Angel another, and Spike, after a brief struggle, the third that had attacked Wesley. They stood together for a moment, listening for any additions to the battle, then started their way back to the hotel. Gunn naturally fell into step with Wesley, and this left Spike to walk with Angel. Preferring conversation with horned demons trying to kill him than this infuriating Angel who was so bloody cold, Spike paused unnecessarily to fix his bootlace. Angel, being infuriating on cue, paused to wait for him. Spike had no choice but to pace alongside his sire in the dark. Angel let the humans draw slightly ahead, and Spike just knew he was in for some trouble. He was surprised at Angel's first question. `Are you okay?'

`Err... yeah, four `gainst three, luv, easy.'

`That's not what I meant, Spike.'

`Oh.'

`So?'

`So what?'

`Spike!'

`What? Yeah, I'm okay... fuck Angel - I ain't been on holiday or summit - I was only gone one night.'

`Yes I know.'

Spike whirled around to face him; confrontation had always served as his best defence with Angelus. `What do you bloody mean by that?'

Angel smiled faintly. `I know it was only one night.'

This amplification made Spike see red. How dare Angel be so fucking... mature about this... this. what was this again? `What did you just ask me?'

Angel smiled with genuine amusement, but as he had started to move forward this was lost on Spike. `I just wanted to know if you were... succeeding with your plan.'

Spike jogged to catch him up. `What's he said to you?' Yep, adversarial... never let him down.

`Who?'

Bugger, he was forced to speak his name first. `Wesley, Angel, who the bleedin' fuck do you think I mean?'

`That's an appropriate expression, isn't it, Spike? Loving the bleedin' fucks that keep creeping in recently. Are you trying to tell me something?'

`Uh? Angel, what are you blathering on about?'

Finally Angel stopped and turned to him. Unexpectedly he took Spike's face in his hands and turned him slightly to catch some extra illumination from a chink of sunlight that meandered down through a hole in the street. Spike resisted at first but then allowed the intense scrutiny. Satisfied with something he saw in Spike's expression, Angel turned away, and before Spike could catch up, he was walking with the humans and engaging them in a perfectly comprehensible, sensible conversation.

Spike trailed miserably behind the trio. He felt like dragging his axe in the slime, but contented himself with slouching and sending Angel hateful thoughts. Everyone seemed out to make his life difficult, and he resented this immensely. All he had wanted was to hunt Wesley, seduce him, make him their sex-toy for a night or two and get back to shagging Angel - it wasn't much to ask and had seemed a good plan when it had occurred to him eight inches up Angel's arse only a week ago... and why the bleedin'... why the fuck did he have to think about that now when he was walking behind Angel's ass? He didn't want to watch those toned cheeks twitch in their soft grey pants. He wanted to watch Wesley. Oh... he could do that as well. Wesley's backside was just as much fun to watch as his sire's, and he started to undress them both and compare the ease with which cheeks parted to his eager, insistent hands.

`Spike!'

`Spike!'

`Spike...'

Finally roused from his pleasant revere, Spike realised they were back and that Wesley was holding the hatch to the basement open for him. He climbed up but, as he took the cover, saw the human wince in pain. He pulled open the watcher's jacket and hissed at the raw, jagged slash marking Wesley's smooth chest. He turned to call to Angel, but Wesley laid a firm hand on his arm. Spike looked up at him, and their eyes locked. Wesley gave the faintest shake of his head, and Spike was overwhelmed by the emotion he felt pouring off the watcher. He paused mid-shout, and Wesley smiled at him. With that one smile Spike realised that he had lost the game, for there was no longer any game to be won. Far from Wesley being prey to be hunted and taken, this human had suddenly turned and met him face on in the killing field as an equal and as an ally. For as they looked into each other's eyes, they saw mutual understanding that Angel was the human-shaped universe around which they both gravitated, helpless.

Spike was stunned. He actually felt slightly dizzy. He was looking at a human and seeing it for the first time as an equal, as something. someone... that shared thoughts and emotions with him - something he had thought only higher creatures like Angel and Drusilla could do.

Wesley hung back from Angel as they went into the lobby, clearly unwilling to let Angel smell his blood loss. He turned pleading eyes on Spike, so although Spike wanted to tell Angel - although he was furious with Angel for not apparently noticing the state of his best friend - Spike held his tongue. He surreptitiously borrowed Angel's keys, and when the others were busy cleaning the weapons he led Wes slowly to the car and drove him back to the apartment. Spike still felt slightly light headed. He knew there were several reasons for this, but concentrated on the two most obvious ones: the smell of Wesley's blood and the almost overwhelming realisation that Wesley was a great deal more than prey to him now. That there was a subtle contradiction between these two thoughts did not worry him unduly. What did worry him was what he was going to do about both. He tipped his head back momentarily, staring at the unedifying headlining of Angel's car.

Then he did something revolutionary. He did something scary. He spoke to Wesley as himself. No artifice, no games, and no personas - even his voice was different: it was the voice he used occasionally for Angel when they were alone and had always used with Drusilla. `You could have told him, Wesley.'

As if he sensed that he was in the presence of someone new, Wesley turned to Spike and, despite his pain, answered simply and without the defensive, aloof tone he normally used with Spike, `He has enough to worry about. He lost one friend; he could not bear to lose another.'

Spike caught his eye, and Wesley saw his own passion for Angel reflected back at him. Thinking that Spike understood what this meant to both of them, he nodded slightly as if the matter was now settled.

Spike carried Wesley up to the apartment and laid him on the couch. He peeled off the ripped jacked and shirt, dropping them carelessly to the ground. The wound was deep and already slightly puffy and infected. Wesley smiled faintly around his pain, `Demon, I'm afraid. You never know where they've been.'

Spike laughed as he gently probed the edges of the cut. `Oh, I think you could take a good guess though.'

`Thank you, Spike. That's conjured up all sorts of images I really didn't want just now.'

Spike patted him lightly on the head. `Good, that'll keep you distracted then while I patch you up.'

`Doctor Spike?'

`Well, yeah... nearly two hundred years of fighting, mate, seen a lot of injuries... inflicted a lot of injuries.'

`On humans?'

Spike grinned and let his amber eyes flash momentarily. `None that anyone need bother to patch up, no. So, what you got in the way of supplies?'

Wesley laughed openly. `Just about everything. I'm a walking chemist shop... it's all in the bathroom.'

Spike fetched an impressive array of bandages, antiseptics - even a surgical needle and thread -and knelt down besides Wesley. He watched a trickle of blood seep down Wesley's ribs and soak into the fabric of the couch. It seemed such a waste, like watching money being burnt. The crimson drops caught the light as they left Wesley's wound; they gave off a low humming resonance that made Spike's still heart resonate back. His ears began to sing, and all other sound ceased in the room. He was falling forward, and the lake was very deep and very warm, and the waters welcomed him in...

`Spike!' Wesley's voice was hoarse and ragged, but there was no anger in it, only concern. `Spike.'

Spike roused from his watching of the hypnotic blood, and put a hand to his face. Relieved by the smooth human form, he bent to his task of patching up the broken human. After a few moments, he paused and sat back on his heels. Wesley looked over at him, his eyes were wide and pooled with unshed tears of pain. `What?'

Spike shifted on his knees slightly so he was closer to Wesley's head. `It's not right, pet, it's too infected too soon. Dunno what was on those claws... alright, I won't go there... but I need to do something before I patch you up.'

`Do something?' Wesley's voice was little more than a croak.

`Yeah.' Spike looked down shyly for a moment and Wesley, once again, sensed the unusual candour he had felt in the car.

Quietly he repeated his question. `Do something?'

Spike looked up directly at Wesley. `Vampire spit, mate, it cleans and heals... keeps wounds flowing `til they're healed I guess.... and has a bit of local anaesthetic in it or summit - so we can do it nice like, when we want to.'

`What?'

Spike tried again. `When we bite, our spit goes into the blood and thins it, keeps it flowing and dulls the pain.'

Wesley began to laugh... as best he could, given his chest was slashed to the bone. Spike was incensed. `Hey? `S not funny; it's serious vampire shit I'm telling you here.'

`Leeches...' Wesley grimaced through his rising hysteria. `Leeches... I always knew it. You're a leech, Spike.'

`Well, fuck you, too, Watcher!' but Spike grinned as he said it and shuffled back to Wesley's chest. `Don't forget the healing bit as well; bloody sight more than leeches, I can tell you.'

`Maggots as well then.'

`Hey!'

`A leech and a maggot.' The pain from his laughter finally brought on the tears Wesley had been suppressing, and Spike took this opportunity to press his face gently to one end of the ragged cut. As soon as his cool tongue touched the burning edges of the wound Wesley's small movements on the couch stilled. Spike could smell the tears still streaming unconsciously from the human's eyes, but he was now silent and motionless. He ran his tongue over the whole length of the cut - not opening it up yet - just allowing his coolness to bring some initial relief. When he felt Wesley was receptive enough, he started to probe under the skin flap on one side.

The feel of the inside of Wesley's skin was exquisite. He had tasted nothing like it for years. He often wished he had known that he was to be chipped - he would have savoured his last kill more. He couldn't remember who it had been now or what they had tasted like, but he thought they might have tasted like this. The wound was very hot in the centre, and Spike let his tongue sit there a long while, easing his saliva into it. Eventually, the fresh, clean blood started to flow more urgently to his touch, washing the foulness of the demon away. Spike smiled around the flow and started to lick in earnest. Coppery fluid sent him into a frenzy of suppressed need. He swallowed again and again as the rich viscous liquid coated his tongue and the walls of his mouth and his throat. His belly started to awaken from its enforced slumber. What was animal blood to a creature designed to feed on blood of the soul? He needed human blood; he needed to taste God flowing into him and being corrupted. It was his power and his blasphemy. Wesley was becoming him - flowing into him...

At first he felt only the lightest of touches on his hair, which he could easily ignore. The pressure increased and, eventually, Wesley's quiet but firm voice said, `Enough,' and Spike knew his brief respite from burning need was over. Sadly, with a huge effort, he lifted his head. Dazed from the exquisite pleasure of feeding, he hardly responded at all when two feverish lips were pressed to his. Blood in his belly, blood swelling his penis, blood driving him, animating him - it was too much. Without the defences he normally wore around his heart... being just him - vampire - he fell from a great height and landed in a place where there was only need and desire and ... love for this human. The kiss exploded within him, sending shards of need into every part of his dead body. He tried to climb on top of the prone human and was only stopped when a deep, agonised groan played against his lips. Even this was superb, and Spike wanted to open his mouth so wide Wesley could scream into him and have that scream swallowed whole. Wesley pulled away though and began to pant, ragged, pained breaths sucked in with difficulty. Utterly remorseful that he had hurt his new precious obsession, Spike tenderly began to bandage the torn chest. He sat Wesley up and fed him some painkillers, then covered him with a rug. Wesley seemed lucid, but distant. He did not respond to Spike's light chatter, or to his offer of tea. Thinking this worse than it probably was, Spike got up to search the bathroom once more for something stronger to perk the human up.

He did not see the long, intense look that Wesley gave him behind his back. He had tasted a vampire's mouth. Why? Why had he pulled Spike from his chest and wanted to taste him? Had the feeling of being fed from been as stimulating as he had always feared and hoped it would be? The slight snuffling noises Spike had made, the pleasure Wesley had felt surging off the vampire, the feel of his fingers as they pawed unconsciously at his flesh, the purring... oh that light purring he had heard about but not believed could be true... it had been more stimulating than Wesley thought possible. As Spike had lain on him, his penis had been rubbed under Spike's waist; he had swelled to the vampire's soft entry. The tongue slipping under the edges of flesh, had in his mind slipped in between tighter edges, pushed in and swirled around deep hot channels that had never been touched, never been filled enough. Spike had moaned in his feeding, and Wesley had wanted to make him moan some more... a vampire body joining with his at last. When he had put his hands down to Spike's hair he had meant to push him in farther, encourage him more, sacrifice himself to the vampire's need - until he had seen the colour of that hair. The blond had shocked him momentarily. Dazed and in pain, he had wondered why it was not darker and longer and fuller and more easy to pull and entangle in his fingers. He always thought it would be. He realised suddenly that Spike had almost gone too far, that he was too empty, too drained - and had pulled the vampire away... but one kiss... could that be so wrong? He closed his eyes and pressed them to vampire lips and in the darkened privacy of his own head, Angel's lips were as soft and as welcoming as he had prayed they would be.

Wesley woke in his own bed, lying on his back, in pain, with a vampire draped around him like a second bandage. He lay very still, trying to get his bearings. He remembered the football, he remembered being sick over Spike... or was that someone else? He remembered a fight and being injured... but was that another time? It was a frequent occurrence in his current occupation. His pain told him it had clearly happened again. He remembered kissing Angel but, frighteningly, couldn't remember why or when this had taken place. He assumed this had just been a dream - again, a frequent occurrence in all his dreams - and then began to wonder why Spike was in bed with him, and why Spike was twisted around him like ivy. The only place Spike did not seem to be touching him was his bandaged chest, and he was grateful for small mercies. One cool, slim thigh was draped across his groin, one arm was around his neck and Spike's face was buried in the hollow of his shoulder and he was... breathing... Spike was actually breathing into his warm skin with cool, drawn out, sleeping breaths. The sun filtered in through the tightly drawn curtains. Stubble pricked his face. He felt it was early morning and confirmed this when he turned his head slightly to look at the clock.

The movement woke Spike, who sat up. He didn't say anything, but watched Wesley closely for any sign that he was in love, too. He tipped his head on one side in his most endearing gesture just to help him out slightly and frowned when he saw no recognition in the deep, complex, human expression. At the frown, Wesley roused himself a little. `What's wrong, and why are you in bed with me, Spike?'

For the first time in a long time, Spike had no ready answer to this. The answer in his head, "Cus I love you, and I want you now, and I don't want to think about anything else so don't make me", didn't seem quite appropriate. He couldn't believe it and flung his head back in annoyance when Wesley suddenly said, `Have you contacted Angel and told him I'm okay?'

`Bloody hell! I said don't mention him.'

`No you didn't.' Wesley frowned, too, and they both sat in the bed frowning at each other for a while, puzzled as to what to do next. Spike solved the puzzle quite effectively, so he thought, by suddenly leaning forward and licking along Wesley's lips. Wesley had never had someone do that before, he'd only been kissed by three people: his mother had never been into licking of any kind (so his father maintained), his girlfriend found it hard to lick from her position of rigidity on the bed, and Cordelia had rather swum in his saliva too much for him to know if she was licking or not. Spike's tongue was soft and cool and sweet and ... needed to be tasted some more. He opened his mouth, closed his eyes and once more allowed Angel into him. Cool strong hands came around the back of his neck, strong thighs straddled his waist, and a surprisingly light Angel settled down on him for some prolonged, intense kissing. He was opened up; he was explored; his whole body was made to tingle with desire. Strong fingers worked in his hair, kneading his scalp to the pressure of the tongue. He slipped his hands up under Angel's habitually dark shirt, feeling up the strangely prominent spine. The feel of his warm hands on the cold back made the vampire squirm lightly in his lap, and Wesley groaned as friction made his penis throb. A hand slipped down, and he was eased out into the cool air. He put his own hand down and pulled the sheet higher to cover himself and felt the vampire grin into the kiss. Finally, desperate to breathe, he pulled away and leant his head back on the headboard. He felt a surprisingly soft hand against his face.

`Hey?'

He didn't want to open his eyes... but had to.

Spike, his head tipped on one side, was observing him curiously. Where had the Watcher gone? Wesley's tongue might have explored inside his mouth, but Wesley did not appear to have been attached to it at the time. He smiled faintly at him, as he moved his hand back to the swelling under the sheet. He didn't expose it this time, just put a hand lightly on it and stroked it thoughtfully for a while.

`What's wrong, Wesley? You want this, don't you? You kissed me last night, remember.' Spike did not miss the look that flickered across Wesley's face. `You don't remember!'

Recovering quickly, Wesley fleetingly wondered how many other Englishmen had gotten themselves into situations they didn't want because they were too polite to say "no". `It's not that, Spike, I'm... oh, I'm still hurt... look!'

They both looked at his wound for a while, and even Wesley had to admit that it hurt considerably less than it ought to, and was not too sore to touch. `See, vampire spit.' Spike said this sadly, and as if his great gift had not been properly appreciated. Wesley could not bear to hurt anyone and impetuously leant forward to attempt another kiss. As he did, the sheet slipped off and Spike's hand was finally stroking bare, aroused human flesh. Wesley closed his eyes once again and continued to seek for Spike's mouth. He opened his eyes surprised when he appeared to miss. Spike had ducked his head down, slithered lower onto Wesley's thighs and was swallowing him down.

Wesley gasped, flung himself back against the headboard and couldn't have cared less who it was on the other end of his dick. It was - incredible - his first blowjob. He groaned, moaned, colours began to explode behind his eyes. A mouth, a mouth that talked and smiled and you could kiss, being placed around his penis! Lips stroking up and down, a tongue exploring, his slit being probed! Tight muscles drawing him out, sucking his sperm straight out of his balls - oh, shit! ... his balls being held, too. Thirty-four years old and he had not known such physical pleasure existed. He risked looking down at the wrong vampire, found it easy and watched with fascination as the blond head bobbed up and down, tasted, teased, and enjoyed him. He put tentative hands on Spike's hair and groaned his name. The movements stopped momentarily, so he groaned louder, and they resumed with intensity not there before. He didn't know which part of his groin to concentrate on. It was all pleasure, all tingle, all expectation, until the tip of his cockhead touched the back of Spike's throat. Then all thought focused only on that small, mushroom-shaped head, pictured it rubbing against the red wall of Spike's throat, seeing the slit oozing and stimulated on the slick column. He felt an orgasm swelling in his balls. They were encased by a cool firm grip, and the hand started to pump slightly as if it could sense his imminent release. He murmured Spike's name once more and, beyond belief, a deep resonate purring began in the throat that held his cock. It was too much. Heedless of his wound, he pulled himself as upright as possible and thrust himself further down that oesophagus, forcing himself in, burying his short rough curls against sharp features and eager lips.

He grasped the back of the vampire's head and started to ride out the most powerful and intense orgasm he had ever had. It washed over his entire body, draining the blood from his brain, making his ears hum, his heart beat rapidly and the pleasure, oh, the pleasure as he came. He tightened his grip on the hair and thrust some more. He could see that tiny slit opening and pouring out its fluid and the pouring sent waves of pleasure through his brain, it pumped on and on and then swallowing... God, he was being swallowed! It made him weak with gratitude... he was swallowing him, `Angel, Angel... yes, take me in.' He gasped the words as still more fluid poured from him...

...but the throat was withdrawn.

`No!'

The mouth was removed.

`Jesus, don't!'

The lips closed over.

`Christ, don't stop, don't stop.' Wesley's hand flew to his cock to keep the momentum of his orgasm going, but it was lost. He never quite crashed over into the replete satisfaction he knew that he could have found in that cool mouth... he opened his eyes. Ah.

Whose cool mouth?

*****
Part 4:

Spike sat back on his heels looking at Wesley. He kept an open, level expression of deep consideration on his face and finally only gave a small nod and started to climb off the bed. Wesley put a restraining hand on his arm. Spike didn't shake it off, only leant into it slightly as if for support, but then removed it gently with one of his own. He stood up.

`I'm so sorry, Spike... it was you...' Wesley trailed off. He could not imagine how Spike must feel and knew that nothing he could say would make it any better. How could he now tell him that he was happy it had been him, that he had wanted it to be him - until that intense blood drain had let slip unconscious thoughts he would now have withdrawn if he could. He could not. Too late... much too late. Angel's name had been spoken in that room.

Angel, Angel, Angel. The name resonated in Spike's brain. Where was he? Why was Angel not here? Why had he taken Wesley's penis into his mouth? It was warm and slightly soft, and he wanted the cool hard familiarity of the penis he had come to know almost as well as his own. So, where was Angel? Why wasn't he here, now, telling him what to do? Spike gave a small sob, half way between a gasp and a sigh and backed out of the room.

Wesley heard only the sort of cry anyone might make in those circumstances, but by the time he had manoeuvred his still sore body out of the bed, Spike was gone.

He'd never shopped for anything other than booze in a Pharmacy before. He had no need of human pills and potions and found it all bewildering. He finally found what he was looking for and bought the toothbrush and toothpaste. When he got back to the hotel, it was almost lunchtime. He could see Angel hunched over his desk, Cordelia working on the computer, and Fred and Gunn in the kitchen, still giggling. All so familiar already; all so like home in only two weeks; all lost to him now. He slipped noiselessly up the stairs to his own room and shut the door firmly. He ripped open the packets and squeezed some of the stripy paste onto the shiny bristles. It tasted like Buffy, and he worked it around for a while, confused by the new sensation. Where was it all supposed to go? He sort of spat, wiped a bit, and decided he needed water. He peered cautiously out and made his way into the bathroom. He filled his mouth and started again. As he worked, he stared at himself in the mirror. Having no reflection, he could see what he liked for a while until the truth overrode even his capacity for self-deception.

He had taken the game too far; he had been seduced to the extent that he had not even recognised it for what it was... just a game still. It had enraptured him, allowing himself to feel in love with Wesley. The heady sensuality of it had toyed with him... and what now? He had stirred up repressed desires in Wesley and ... then there was Angel... but again, where was Angel? Where had he put Angel for the last few days? His sire had not been tucked securely in his heart where he had been for nearly two hundred years. He had not been singing in his brain where he had been since their explosive reunion last week. He had not been tingling in his balls, which he did all the time, every moment of the day and night, Angel, Angel, Angel. Spike had packed him away and locked him down for a while so he could make up rules for his game, break the rules he had laid down for himself, destroy the rules that held them together.

In breaking those bonds, he had lost Angel.

He had watched him fading away to be replaced by the amusement to be had from Wesley's brighter light. He saw Angel's recently closed-off face, heard Angel's toneless voice, replayed every moment when that face had withdrawn more and that voice had slipped further away from him.

He brushed harder. He slipped into vampire face and tried that way, able to scrub now until his human gums bled when he returned to them. It was to no avail. He could still taste him, and knew that Angel would too... and in the taste of that cum, Angel would know the truth. Spike had never had any intention of sharing Wesley with him. He had wanted that human softness all for himself.

So, again, where was Angel?

`Spike.'

Angel, it appeared was just outside the door. It was not locked, but he did not come in. `Spike?'

Spike took one more look at himself, saw only a loathsome creature in that empty reflection, and opened the door.

He brushed past Angel, not looking at him, and went into his room. Angel followed behind him. Feeling trapped, Spike pushed past him again and went up to the training room. He felt better with a weapon in his hand and began to slash at Angel's punch bag with a sword.

`Don't do that.'

`Fuck off, I'll do what I like.'

`As usual, then.'

Spike whirled on Angel and Angel, seeing only a flashing sword, took a neat, necessary step back. Spike looked surprised, realised he was still holding the weapon and dropped it as if it were suddenly hot. He looked at his hands curiously as they began to shake. His knees wobbled, and he collapsed on the floor with his face buried. He did not realise that Angel had come towards him once more until he felt an arm placed across his shoulders.

Angel knelt slightly behind Spike and watched his lowered head closely. All the pent-up and tightly controlled feelings spilled out and rapid emotion flickered across his face as he watched his childe.

When he thought Spike was ready, he tightened his grip and said quietly into one ear, `Better it had stayed in our room then, Spike, after all?'

Spike raised his tear-streaked face to Angel's and shook his head fractionally, not understanding Angel's meaning.

Angel smiled, and Spike's dead heart flipped over a little at that look. `I told you, little one, it isn't like it was for us anymore.'

`What do you mean, Angel, and why are you here like this? What the fuck is going on?'

Angel smiled and pulled Spike to his feet. He kept hold of his arm and led him over to the stack of training mats in the corner. He sat down and waited patiently for Spike to follow. Being Spike, he refused to do the expected and hopped up onto the pommel horse instead. Angel tried to stay serious as memories of the feel of that horse slipped into his mind, but pulled his face back into the caring sire expression he was going for and answered Spike.

`You had to see for yourself, Spike; you wouldn't listen to me. If I'd have told you no, you'd have gone after Wesley to spite me. So I told you yes, instead.'

`I wouldn't have... and what do you mean, told me yes?' Spike started to readjust one cuticle and Angel knew by this simple, familiar gesture, that Spike was feeling under pressure.

`You asked me if I minded you having recreational sex... so, Spike, don't you see now why I said that I did?'

`Nope.' The cuticle started to bleed so, not looking up, Spike started on a new one.

`How do you feel now?'

At last Spike looked at Angel. `What do you mean? I'm just bloody peachy, mate, had a good time with ole' Wes an'...' he trailed off, unable to sustain his own pathetic lie. `Fucking awful. How do you bloody think I feel?'

`I know, I've followed every step of your twisted path, Spike.'

`What?'

`Oh God, Spike, do you think I haven't been watching you every minute of the day? Do you think I don't hear every sigh you make, hear every breath you take? Jesus, Spike, I sense you when you aren't here, I long for you like I long for... ` Spike looked up, amazed at Angel's impassioned tone. He had not missed its absence until this moment, and now the last week seemed like a dream where he had been the only one on a stage - all the other players merely backdrop to his obsessed performance. `... like I long for my redemption, Spike. I love you more than I love my soul, and you think I've not been with you every step of the way this week?'

`You've hardly given me the time of day, Angel.' Spike knew his tone was petulant, but he couldn't help it.

`Spike, what would you have done if I had interfered?'

`Given it all up and given you a cuddle?' Spike couldn't help the small grin that accompanied these words and grinned some more at their effect on Angel, for he got up and came to stand between Spike's legs.

`Okay, Spike, in the alternate reality where you don't instantly obey my every wise injunction like you do in this one... in that reality, what would you have done if I had interfered?' He ran his hands up Spike's thighs lightly as he asked this, not catching Spike's eye.

`I guess I'd have gone hell for leather over it even more and probably ended up destroying everything. Like I've done.'

Now Angel looked up. He caught Spike's face between his hands. `Nothing's even dented, Spike; all whole, all perfect.'

Not wanting to comment on all the implications of Angel's words, Spike contented himself with focusing on the negative. `'Cept Wesley, maybe?'

`Ah. So, you discovered the source of the Wesley reticence, did you?'

Spike's eyes flew wide open. `You knew it was you?'

`Spike! Just how much of an anal cretin do you take me for! I'm hurt.' The playful way his hands were undoing Spike's fly, rather belied his words.

Spike was getting more and more angry with this know-it-all Angel. `Look, mate, your ardent bloody admirer and number one fan was nearly killed yesterday, and you didn't even bloody notice that, did you?'

`He had a claw gouge eight inches long, about a quarter of an inch deep at its deepest, and it was slightly infected. You, no doubt, used one of your many interesting and useful orifices on it, and probably bandaged it up quite neatly.'

Spike stilled Angel's hands on his zip and tipped his chin up to look at him. `Who's been playing games here, Angel? Have you been trying to fuck with my head.' He saw Angel's expression and laughed suddenly.

Angel tried to speak and took a few attempts to say with amusement, `I don't even know where to start answering that, Spike. I'm not trying to fuck with your head; I'm trying to fuck with you right now...'

`No...' Spike still held Angel's wrists in a firm grip, but did not resist when Angel twisted his hands to be able to stroke the inside of his wrists.

`I've screwed it all up, Angel. You won't want to fuck with me when you know what I've done.'

`What, fucked Wesley and suddenly discovered it wasn't what you wanted at all?'

`Uh?'

`Doing impressions of Xander Harris, then? Ouch.' Angel winced as Spike gave him a quite effective Chinese burn to both wrists, but laughed at his outraged face. `What else then, Spike, do I not know? That Wesley refused you? Ah, I see, he called my name then, didn't he? What were you doing? Thrusting inside him? Coming in him?' He watched Spike's face as he went through these alternatives. `Ah, I get it, the tooth brushing... I thought you were trying oral hygiene for once... he came in your mouth, didn't he? And cried my name as he did?'

`You're a fucking wonder, you are, mate. You should be on the stage reading fucking minds, and I hate you so much...'

`So much that you won't let me pull away now and get you out? Hate me so much that you won't let me see if the taste of you stays on my tongue?'

Spike grinned. `No, not that much. Taste away, fucker.'

Spike watched thoughtfully for a while as Angel bent his head to his penis and took it reverently in his mouth, but he was not finished with his puzzle yet. `Angel?'

Not surprisingly, he got very little response. `Angel!' He accompanied this with a tug to Angel's hair, and Angel reluctantly let the shaft slip out of his mouth and stood up.

`Err... what Spike?' He continued to play Spike's penis with his fingers, pinching the foreskin up and scratching a nail over the soft, spongy tip.

Finding it difficult to talk, Spike ground out between gritted teeth, `So, luv, you said nothing broken? We're... okay, are we?'

Angel let the erection slip from him and took Spike into his arms. He pulled him off his perch on the pommel horse and pressed him standing up against the soft leather. Spike felt as if he were being overwhelmed, obliterated by the force of Angel's presence. Angel held his childe's head into the hollow of his shoulder. `Spike, I love you more at this moment than I have ever loved or wanted you. It's like...' he paused, trying to find the right words, `...you've discovered human love, Spike. You thought you knew all about it, didn't you? You thought you loved me, but you loved me as a demon, Spike. You wanted to piss around and come back to me, like we always did. But I've changed, and I couldn't explain it to you. How could I? You had to see it for yourself.' He pushed Spike away so Spike was pinned between the leather and his solid body, forced to look at him. `You're not pure demon anymore, Spike...no!' Spike tried to pull away, unwilling to hear this. `You've become something else, as I have... different, but the same effect. We can't piss around anymore Spike. It's you and it's me. That's all. No one else - ever. Do you understand?'

`So, not broken?'

Angel laughed at Spike's quiet focus on this important point. `No love, not broken; never in any danger. I look after what's mine.'

Spike grinned and could feel his confusion ebbing away in the strong insistence of Angel's words. He didn't have a fucking scoobie what Angel was going on about - but it wasn't broken. They weren't broken. He wriggled an eyebrow suggestively. `So, mate. Seeing as I'm out an' all, and up an' all... how's about you looking after what's yours properly?'

Angel fell to his knees before Spike had even finished. Spike lent back against the pommel horse, and enjoyed his blowjob. He wished he could have a cigarette, but they were in his coat. He wondered what Wesley was doing and idly imagined the mouth around him was a little warmer. He waited for the bolt of lightening to strike him down, and when it didn't... duh! surprise there then... he took the fantasy a little further. Angel's hair looked remarkably like Wesley's hair from this position and he ran his hands lightly through it.

... If the taste of mint in his mouth confused him momentarily? Well, he sucked his teeth to get rid of it. It was good being a demon; you got blowjobs when you needed them, and you didn't have to think about complicated shit that got you all confused. As if he wasn't a proper demon anymore... It was unthinkable. For if he wasn't, then what was he? He sucked a little harder to get rid of that unnatural, infuriating taste and concentrated on thinking it was Wesley sucking him off. He had to admit that this forced fantasy was not easy to maintain. He doubted Wesley would be able to sustain prolonged suction and a non-breaking seal with his lips for over fifteen minutes. Angel was good; Spike had to give him that. and they were okay, that was main thing. If Spike read closely between the lines of those impassioned speeches, Angel had as good as given him his permission to carry on with his game. and he didn't need his permission anyway. but it was good to have, so what next? He had a tricky little problem to worry and tease out, and it was made of plastic and wires - or he assumed it was, he'd never actually seen it - and it limited all his fun. He could not seriously see himself pushing into Wesley's frail, human, virgin ass and enjoying for long the exquisite tearing that would inevitably ensue. More probably he'd end up in agony, the mood broken and his glorious stonker. well, okay, his erection might even he helped along by the pain, but he wouldn't. Even he couldn't push on through that to the other side. So, dilemma. but that was of the good. problems were good, he was supposed to be a master strategist, fuck it, he was a master of strategy and he would overcome. he always did.

He felt an orgasm building so put to one side for a moment the deliciousness of planning Wesley's seduction and let himself cum forcibly and enjoyably into Angel's mouth. He rode into the strong throat muscles until he had been totally swallowed, then slipped out and sank to his knees too. Angel caught at his face and pulled him in for a kiss. Spike tried to resist this intimacy. He didn't mind blowjobs, but kissing when you were planning was too tricky. Besides, he didn't want Angel to taste Wesley. no, hang on, they'd covered that. he didn't want him to taste the toothpaste. no, that didn't seem likely. What else did he have in this mouth then that he had to keep from Angel? It was a puzzle, and it kept him occupied as they showered together and Angel dressed to return to the office.

Angel sat as his desk in his habitually still pose, waiting for Wesley to come in. He noted the human's slow walk and the care with which he lowered himself into his chair. He went out and sat on the edge of the watcher's desk.

'How's the wound, Wes?'

Wesley could not catch his eye, and took off his glasses to clean them to make that the reason for this inability. 'Oh, Spike told you then? It's fine... really, Angel, just a scratch and I've been looked after well. I mean.' stuttering slightly, Wes replaced his glasses and reached for a pen as if that would steady his nerve. Angel put a soft hand on his shoulder and squeezed lightly. 'I'm glad that all is well, Wesley. I can't do without you here, you know that, don't you?'

Wesley blushed, pleased, and tried not to glance at Angel's thigh on his desk. 'Yes, well, you have me, so that's alright. Where. where are the others?'

'Spike's gone to bed, I think.'

'Ah. I think he sort of watched over me all night, so he must be tired.' It sounded lame, even to him, but Angel did not challenge him on the lie.

Angel was getting used to being lied to by those he loved the most. He only smiled at someone else's failed attempt to fool him and went back to his office, still chuckling slightly every time he thought of Spike and Wesley or, occasionally, Wesley and Spike - just to vary the images.

As usual when Spike slept the day away, Angel visited him once or twice. He'd been doing this on and off for nearly two hundred years and never tired of the pleasure it gave him. He loved to stand in the room and watch his sleeping childe. Spike was almost at his best - asleep. Spike was not easy to love - he was easy to adore, to want, to need, to like, but love? No, not to love - that took concentration and effort and an ability to see beyond what was apparent. Angel had discovered this ability to read Spike, and hence to love him with an undreamt of passion, in only one week, and the kick he got from it still absorbed him. It seemed to him now that Spike's emotions were encased in glass and that he could see through this cage as easily as if it were not there at all. Nothing was hidden to Angel: all Spike's complex planning, all his volatile emotions, all his doubt and angst and passion - all there, raging against the glass. He never told Spike all this; he let him think he just had a sire's knack of good guessing sometimes. So, Angel could never stand and watch Spike enough as he slept, for he was watching something that held him utterly captive to love. but how much should he let Spike rage inside the glass cage before he hurt himself? Angel had watched, pained, as Spike had stalked Wesley. He knew that Spike's heart was more fragile than many humans' and feared that Spike would be hurt. He had watched Spike's increasing confusion over his game with that same fear. He had held Spike in his heart, silently, carrying him in his thoughts most carefully just as Spike believed himself to be abandoned. He had brought him safely out of the complexities of last night only to see Spike attack another wall and start the metaphorical banging of his head once more. He knew that Spike was not finished with Wesley, and after his close inspection of Wesley just now, he knew that Wesley was still very vulnerable to Spike's game.

Angel turned away from Spike and deposited the items he had brought with him, leaving as silently and as calmly as he had arrived. It was time to end the game. He was tired of it. He wanted Spike back in his bed, compliant, happy and . well, just Spike. Angel grinned. It was good being a demon - sometimes.

*****